


The Calls

by d_aia



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: AU of Lost Days, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Minor Character Death, Other Jobs!Jason, POV Alfred, POV Alfred Pennyworth, POV Outsider, batfamily, joker dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 12:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15630468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: Alfred is cleaning up the dust in the office, presumably. He knows that Bruce is not clear on what Alfred does all day, but he sincerely hopes that Bruce doesn’t think Alfred just shifts dust around. No, what he’s actually doing, is serving as a soundboard for Bruce. It’s a little-known fact that he thinks better with a little light banter.The phone rings, disrupting their discussion, and Alfred moves to answer.





	The Calls

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks lots to Lex for always being there! If I missed a warning or you want to add tag, please tell me. Otherwise, enjoy the fic :D!

_Jan, 29th; 4:20 p.m._

Alfred is cleaning up the dust in the office, presumably. He knows that Bruce is not clear on what Alfred does all day, but he sincerely hopes that Bruce doesn’t think Alfred just shifts dust around. No, what he’s actually doing, is serving as a soundboard for Bruce. It’s a little-known fact that he thinks better with a little light banter.

The phone rings, disrupting their discussion, and Alfred moves to answer. “Good afternoon, you have reached Wayne Mansion,” he greets. “How may I help you?”

“Alfred?” a familiar voice asks and Alfred stiffens. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

Alfred hears himself as if from a distance. “Master Jason?”

Bruce’s head snaps up and he launches for the speaker button.

“Yeah, Alfred,” Jason says and he sounds weary. “It’s me. I’m on speaker, right?”

“Yes,” Bruce answers. “How do we know you are who you say you are?”

“Bruce,” Jason sighs. “You big boob, why would I lie?”

Alfred barely has time to turn his snort into a cough.

“How did you know that?” Bruce asks. He’s pale, but you can’t hear it in his voice. No, his voice sounds blank, just as it does whenever he’s scolding the boys.

Alfred closes his eyes and curses his many failures as a guardian.

“You know what? I was just dunked into the Pit after being a catatonic fighter for months,” Jason lists. “Of course, earlier than that I had to dig myself out and even earlier I got blown up and even earlier—”

A muffled voice says, “I pity your life.” It sounds like a child.

And Jason answers, turning away from the phone a bit so his voice is a little fainter, “Thanks so much, Shortcake.” He ‘offfs’ immediately.

Bruce and Alfred look at each other.

“Then I find out that you let Joker walk and you replaced me,” Jason says just as blankly as Bruce as Jay continues where he left off. “I don’t have to prove shit to you. Those days are gone, Bruce, and I’m tired. I’ve had a rough few… ah.”

“Life?” the child asks.

_“Anyway,”_ Jason says and he sounds amused for a second. “Can I say my piece or should I say goodbye to Alfred right now?”

Bruce opens his mouth, but Alfred speaks before Bruce can. “We are listening, Master Jason.” He realizes that his voice is trembling ever so slightly, but he’s scared that this one chance of getting Jason back is going to get away because of a panicky parent who won’t allow himself to hope.

Alfred feels Bruce’s eyes on him but also hears as Bruce closes his mouth with a click.  

“Good,” Jason says dryly. “Mr. Wayne, when you were with the League you did the dirty with somebody. Want to guess what that led to?”

_‘A child,’_ Alfred thinks immediately. _‘The child.’_

Bruce’s jaw clenches. “I didn’t.”

“You didn’t what?” Jason asks with dark amusement. “You didn’t fuck Talia? You didn’t bypass condoms? You didn’t forget for nine fucking years to check if there were any consequences? You didn’t leave your kid to grow up as an assassin? Because I have news for you.”

“Master Jason,” Alfred says chidingly. “You’re being unfair and you’re using awful language.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jason replies mockingly. “Was I supposed to add that he wouldn’t have made that much of a difference? After all, he teaches boys to die. Or does he do that only for street kids?”

There’s silence for a few seconds and the child’s voice is heard again.

“Calm down,” the child says nonchalantly.

Jason sighs. “I have the kid with me, you can test him.”

“Understood,” is all Bruce manages.

“Talia is too busy being her father’s daughter to be any kind of good mom, but I’m not bringing him around until you promise me some things,” Jason says and he sounds weary again. “First: you will do two leisure activities with him per week that have nothing to do with being Robin and/or Batman. Second: you will train him. And third: he will never be Robin. Maybe, when he’s eighteen, he’ll be Batboy. Assasinboy. The Boybat. The Boy. The Bat. I honestly don’t care. But he’ll never be Robin.”

Bruce’s face is as blank as ever, but the tear that slowly makes its way down his cheek betrays the lie.

“Why would you say that?” the child calls. “I can fight.”

“Do you trust me?” Jason sounds farther from the telephone.

Someone huffs. “You know I do.”

“Then trust that I know what I’m talking about,” Jason says earnestly. “There’s no reason for you not to have a childhood, but if it’s too late for that, then at least some time to figure out what you want to do and how you want to do it.” There’s the sound of cloth moving and then he adds, “Hell, you can start a rescue clinic. There are enough heroes in Gotham and the needle hasn’t moved any. Just, you know, maybe don’t exaggerate? We already have Ivy, we don’t need a villain called Animal-lover-boy.”

There is a pause and the child finally says, “That is an awful name.”

“Well, you’re certainly more creative than your father,” Jason says decisively.

“I always wondered why he is called ‘Batman,’” the child says and the disapproval is enough to dispel any doubts that Alfred might have had as to who the child’s father is.

Jason laughs short and sharp. “I’m going to let you ask that,” he answers the child and then he speaks into the phone. “Do you agree?”

Bruce makes eye-contact with Alfred, who simply raises an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Bruce says.

“We’ll be there Saturday, bright and early.”

Bruce winces.

*

That is the first call, the one that starts everything, but it isn’t the last.

*

_Feb, 4th; 11:12 p.m._

Bruce and Alfred are stewing in their guilt. Arriving on a red motorcycle, Jason had delivered his precious cargo, offering, at the same time, his blood to be able to continue visiting Damian. The whole process was disturbing, to say the least, involving a too-deftly handled ka-bar, Alfred’s handkerchief—that he’ll never be able to look at again—and a sliced forearm.

But that isn’t all. Bruce found the grave disturbed, footage of Jason stumbling in the dark before being run over by a car, video upon video of a catatonic Jason wandering the streets, eating from the garbage and defending himself, before being captured by ten of the League’s assassins. Finally, with the confirmation that Jason is who he says he is, a suffocating guilt sets in.

“How did I miss this, Alfred?”

Alfred has no words to truly soothe Bruce, but Alfred can try. “You are only human, Master Bruce,” he reminds softly.

“And yet there are normal people out there who have no problem looking out for the well-being of their charges or knowing their whereabouts.”

“To be fair, none of those cases are similar to yours.”

Bruce snorts. “Which of the Batcave’s capabilities are similar to what other people can use?” He clenches his jaw. “No, this is my fault.”

When Alfred opens his mouth, the phone rings. He hesitates for a second, before answering it. “Good evening, you have reached Wayne Manor. How may I help you?”

“Alfred, is Jason alive?” Tim’s voice is faint over the rushing wind.

“Yes, Master Timothy.”

“I’ll be right there,” Tim replies immediately as if he already knew the answer. “Goodbye, Alfred.”

“Goodbye, Master Timothy.” Alfred carefully puts the phone down. “Master Timothy is coming for a visit. I suggest find a way to tell him about Master Damian.”

*

_Feb, 24th; 11:09 p.m._

Alfred enjoys the newly reestablished peace. For the last four weeks, the Manor has been fraught with tension. Be it jealousy, real sadness, feelings of abandonment, or just plain suppressed anger, things between Timothy and Damian haven’t been harmonious. 

With just a call to come and mediate to Master Jason, though, all that changed radically.

To Damian, Jason posed the following question, “Why is it a competition? Do you want to prove yourself to Bruce? It’s the other way around. Bruce should prove himself to you.”

Timothy got his hair ruffled and a, “You’re the older brother, Replacement. Pranks are in your arsenal, use them.”

Then Jason said to both of them, “Or better yet, work together. If you have each other, you’ll need Bruce a lot less.”

Thus, the thoughtful silence settles on the room.  

“I have something to do, so I need to go. Sorry, Shortcake. I’ll come again Wednesday.” Jason nonchalantly avoids one of Damian’s errant fists and plants a kiss on his forehead. Alfred can tell it’s not meant to hit anything and so does Timothy who looks on sadly. But then Timothy quickly brightens when Jason leans over and ruffles Timothy’s hair. “You might discover you actually like working together.”

With a wave and a smirk, Jason’s out the door.

Three seconds later, Richard enters. “Who did I bump into just now?”

Timothy and Damian exchange looks. Alfred admits the timing is suspicious. Timothy frowns, but Damian shrugs lightly.

And Damian is the one who asks, “Do you have your wallet?”

Laughing, Richard says, “Of course. It’s right here.” He gets it out.

The roles reverse and Timothy asks, “Okay, but do you have your money?”

Richard realizes that the money is, in fact, gone.

“You’ve reunited with Jason, I see,” Damian says with a sly smile. He turns toward Timothy, “Truce?”

Timothy extends his hand. “Truce.”

“Wait a second,” Richard says, eyes closed as he’s doing his best to keep calm. And failing. “Jason?”

*

_Feb, 24th; 8:47 p.m._

Alfred is with Bruce in the office. Richard had not taken the news well and now there’s a full out prank war with Bruce as the target. He’s currently in hiding while doing his very best to pretend he isn’t. Alfred, who doesn’t see the point of stopping them or reporting back to Bruce, guarantees his alibi—he’s been with Bruce the whole time.

After all, how is Alfred supposed to know that they would do _that_?

The phone rings and Alfred watches it with trepidation for a moment. A lot of joy came out of using the phone these days, but there’s been a lot of upheavals too. Finally, he picks it up.

“Good evening, you have reached Wayne Manor,” Alfred says. “How may I help you?”

Bruce leans over and pushes the speaker button.

“Good evening, Mr. Pennyworth,” Gordon greets. “It’s Commissioner Gordon. May I speak with Mr. Wayne?”

“I’m here,” Bruce says. “Good evening.”

“I called to let you know because you might get calls from the press with your company handling the electronic security in Arkham,” Gordon begins and Alfred can already tell that this is not a good call. “Joker died tonight.”

_Jason._

“What happened?” Bruce asks lightly in direct contrast with his face.

“Ah…” Gordon coughs. “He slipped in the shower.”

_…Well._

“What?” Bruce growls. Then remembering himself, he hurries to add, “I don’t think I’ve heard you right. Are you saying that his death was accidental?”

“Yes, I did,” Gordon says.

Bruce looks up at Alfred.

“It’s just difficult to believe,” Bruce says honestly.

“I understand that,” Gordon replies.

Bruce sighs. “Thank you for letting me know, I clearly needed the warning.”

“It isn’t a hardship,” Gordon says. “And yes, I know you won’t ask, but I’m telling you: we did make sure that it was him and he was dead.”

In the silence that follows, Bruce and Alfred make eye contact.

“Thank you,” Bruce says.

Gordon waits a few seconds to make his second point and then finishes, “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Bruce says automatically.

Gordon hangs up.

“Did I interpret the conversation wrong or did the Commissioner suggest that he knows your alternate identity?” Alfred asks.

“He did,” Bruce says, frown featured clearly on his face. “I’ve had suspicions for some time now. However, I am more worried about Joker’s death.”

_‘And here I thought that was the good news part of the conversation,’_ Alfred thinks.

“I think it’s Jason,” Bruce continues, thankfully ignorant to Alfred’s thoughts. “But if it isn’t, the list of people who might’ve killed him is huge. There is a lot of work to do. We have to first make sure Joker’s dead.”

The possibility of Jason having done it unsettles Alfred. He does not want that for Jason and the thought of Jason facing his murderer again is one that makes Alfred feel cold. This shouldn’t have happened.

Maybe Alfred could do something for Jason now. There are things that Jason might want or need: a hot homemade meal, for example. Or a friendly ear. Yes, that Alfred can do.

Alfred makes his way to the door. “I wish you patience, Master Bruce,” Alfred says. He certainly isn’t going to wish him anything more than that.

*

_May, 2nd; 3:03 p.m._

A few months after that fateful night, things are beginning to settle. Jason never admitted to doing it, but he was a shivering wreck when Alfred arrived and Bruce didn’t find anything. Alfred is confident in his conclusion.

After that, they received a whole slew of calls that have succeeded in making Alfred feel a shiver down his spine whenever the phone rings.

Like it does now.

“Let’s do it, Alfred,” Bruce says wearily.

“Good afternoon, you have reached Wayne Manor,” Alfred says. “How may I help you?”

Bruce presses the speaker button.

“Good afternoon, this is Vicky Vale from _Gotham Nightliner_ ,” Vale says. Alfred doesn’t have to look at Bruce to read his exasperation, but Alfred does so anyway. “Can I speak with Mr. Bruce Wayne, please?”

Bruce nods.

“Of course,” Alfred says. “Wait, please.”

After about thirty seconds, Bruce answers cheerfully, “Hello, Vicky.”

“Hi, Bruce!” Vale gets straight to point as is her custom. “Do you have a comment on your son’s candidacy?”

Bruce blinks and then frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Bruce,” Vale says. “You practically raised Jason Todd for a couple of years.”

“I did.”

“So it wasn’t his being referred as your son that surprised you?” Vale asks slyly.

“I’m happy with Jason being called my son.”

“Then what else could you not know? You _must_ be aware of his candidacy in the mayoral race,” Vale says. “I can’t even imagine how proud you are of him. One of your sons is in the running for Mayor of Gotham. The Wayne dynasty is so close to having a representative in the political arena.”

Bruce face twitches in such a way that it makes Alfred wince.

But Vale’s not done. “He only officially announced it ten minutes ago, of course. There was gossip, though, enough of it to put him in the polls with a twenty-point lead.”

Bruce whines pitifully, massaging his temples.

“Bruce, are you there?”

*

_3 years later;  May, 2nd; 4:30 p.m._

Alfred waits for the assistant to put the call through.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Mayor,” Alfred says happily. “Should we expect you this Wednesday?”

Jason laughs. “I’ll be there.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to comment (or just talk to me) you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


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